


Demons under masks

by avaloncat555



Category: Shaman King
Genre: Child Abuse, Dark Magic, Demons, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Heian Period, Horror, Indentured Service, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Jealousy, Murder-Suicide, Possession, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Shamanism, Spirits, Stockholm Syndrome, Underage Rape/Non-con, Underage Sex, Youkai, of sort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2018-12-30 20:12:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12116346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avaloncat555/pseuds/avaloncat555
Summary: Daitaro burns with envy and rage at sight of his master's new apprentice-Mappa Douji, apathetic and detached, street rat who stole his spot. Yet he finds himself drawn like moth to flame at mystery that surrounds the boy...Tadatomo watches his students, oh-so-loyal Daitaro, full of admiration and cunning, and Mappa,  demon boy with strange powers he seeks to posses, along with boy's body and mind.Mappa says nothing, and endures, for what does son of fox have to hope for?





	1. Envy burning red

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is story based on Shaman King Zero, about Hao's childhood and introduction to onmyojo. Heavy warning: story contains rape and molestation of young boy (eleven years old), mental, emotional, financial, sexual and physical abuse, and murders. Please beware.  
> Credits for title of chapter go to redlipstickkisses.   
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it, please review!

Mappa Douji is an useless,untalented, ungrateful stupid mongrel picked off the streets, and Daitaro is drawn to him like moth to flame.

Tadatomo-sama is kind,charitable master. He saved Daitaro from life of poverty and certain death, and so Daitaro’s body and soul belong to him.

But it seems that Tadatomo-sama has been too charitable. Mappa was saved from even worse circumstances than Daitaro himself. Tadatomo-sama took him in, pale and gaunt, naked and starved, saved him from the cold and dirty streets, from illness and street fights, and how does brat repay him?

He doesn’t! Not an ounce of respect, not a crumb of humility! How dare he?

Oh, he is polite, all right, all enough, but never too much, never enough. His voice is cold and flat and gaze empty, he stands straight as arrow yet completely uncaring, blankly observing world without emotion or judgement, like it is a novelty but boring one for him to pick apart in his free time. He doesn’t bow to nobles or priests, doesn’t move to let them pass.

It’s almost as if he wants to die.

* * *

Daitaro remembers his village, and way they looked at him. His ugly birthmark. His ambitions and words. His powers and seemingly empty air he would speak to. And he remembers Tadatomo-sama saving him.

Tadatomo, head onmyoji, perhaps most powerful man after emperor (truly, Fujiwara family), stopping to look at drenched village brat. Stepping out of his gilded carriage, dirtying his fine robes, giving his parents precious golden coins glinting like sunlight. Remembers silk and house and robes Tadatomo-sama gave him, and how servants bowed and people smiled at him.

_Be proud. Be smart. Respect Tadatomo-sama._  He told himself. And all will be well.

* * *

‘‘You mean I should fake my personality depending on who I’m with, just like you?’‘

He tells something else, horrible brat dressed in beautiful robes he doesn’t deserve, but Daitaro doesn’t hear him, blood boiling and teeth gritting, hands reaching like claws, ready to grasp and tear and hurt, because how does he dare?

What does he know, about living with parents that couldn’t look at your face and trying to speak right way to please them? About right combination of pride and humility needed to show Tadatomo-sama that he deserves to taught new technique? Smile that looks inviting but threatening enough to students hoping to take your place, or how to remain deferential but stubborn in front of power hungry  nobles? 

He is given everything for no reason and yet he can’t be grateful enough to even try to not make problems for Tadatomo-sama, and they should have left stupid suicidal brat die on street because it’s all easy to make apathetic faces at people who saved you but when retribution comes their head will be ones to fly.

And brat dares judge him, as if he is any better, for advice Daitaro charitably gave out, to kid that didn’t even know what onmyoji was when boy was supposed to be taught under best in whole Japan, and advice that would allow him to survive in treacherous Court (and maybe he was scoffing and condecensing and said street rat but it was true so why does it matter, why is boy hurt, if he can be).

Maids jump away, shocked and unsure what to say, not ready to involve themselves, and Daitaro is angry enough to smash disrespectful brat’s head against rocks, but moment his hands touch shoulders they freeze, his face trapped in painful grimace, and for all his rage he can’t move.

Because boy doesn’t move, his face still blank and uncaring, and his neck hung,as if he has been awaiting execution for centuries, and Daitaro knows Mappa Douji wouldn’t move, not for all gold in world, not if Daitaro wielded sword of priceless steel, knows that  Enma Daioh himself wouldn’t make him flinch, that when Mappa Douji dies it will be without resistance, walking up to death and paying it no more attention than to gnat on road…

‘‘Stop it, Daitaro. Do you want to ruin such precious garments?’‘

* * *

He is on his knees, bowing and blushing before Tadatomo-sama, his heart madly beating, because he let anger take over, because he was rude and impulsive and he didn’t listen, Tadatomo-sama  wouldn’t have saved bastard if there wasn’t any worth…

And that is forgotten, and Daitaro feels ease and bile rising at his throat, and it is good to watch Mappa Douji get scolded and be surprised, and yet his blood turns cold at sight of care and love offered to brat (and shikigami, snake wrapped around Mappa’s fragile body, so easy to break, and he tries not to look)…

And Mappa’s face is scared, but he doesn’t look, it will do him good to learn to value life.

* * *

‘‘Come to my room, Mappa Douji. You, poor boy who doesn’t know love. Shall I teach you basics firsthand?’‘ Amd Daitaro’s heart breaks.

He would scream, if he could, if it didn’t feel as if his soul is going to leave his body. He would scream if he could, scream that would flatten mountains.

But he can’t. He can only watch, As Mappa Douji is led to Tadatomo-sama’s room.

* * *

It isn’t fair! It isn’t fair! It isn’t fair!

He roars across his room, hitting doors and overturning scrolls, breaking precious bowls his mother would have killed herself for, things that made him fall in awe when he first saw him, now thrown and shattered like useless, easily replaced junk.

It isn’t fair! Tadatomo-sama never took lovers-charges, not even him, and he was his only student (not anymore, not anymore, not ever again). He was obedient, studious, pleasing, making right connection, talented…If anybody should have been awarded that honor, it should have been him!

It shouldn’t have been him! He deserved that, worked for it, paid for it in loyalty and struggle and blood. He was his first student, his special boy, his heir, not this bratty, horrible, ungrateful, thieving brat that hasn’t been in their home for even half a week, that apathetic street rat, that dumb mutt, that, that…

That horrible abomination, that demon child, that son of fox.

* * *

He was waiting outside of Tadatomo-sama’s door.

Waiting, not hiding. Of course not. That was disgraceful. Trunks just happened to conveniently be in front of him.

And he wasn’t spying. He would never invade his teacher’s privacy like that. He was simply awaiting his teacher, in case he was needed and called.

Door opened and he ducked. Mappa Douji walked out.

He was sorry sight, stunted nude body and flailing, reed thin limbs. Pale skin, scarred, recently covered by shit and caked dirt stretched over bones, his ribs visible enough that Daitaro could play music on them. Across body bruises bloomed, ancient and newly made, red imprint of fist over throat. His long hair was disheveled, clusters falling, hiding eyes like veil. In his hands he held torn robes. Red, red robes, red as rubies, red as raw meat.

Red as blood running down Mappa Douji’s tights (there were other things, too, white, so so white).

Mappa jerked, limped, almost crawled. His steps were  small and graceless, and like leaf on wind he he was stumbling, as if being blown left and right. It seemed as if every step sent knife tearing through him, as if he was stepping on red hot coals, red as blood leaving trail behind him.

But he was silent, and standing, and  _proud._

Tadatomo-sama, in all his finery, was never this amazing and stunning and majestic (it pained him to admit, poison in heart, but it was true). Emperor, and entire Fujiwara family, and all nobles of world couldn’t match Mappa now, bare and beaten and bloodied but more glorious than they could ever be, even if they dressed all in gold and jade and silk.

Mappa walked, straight like great tree, like arrow, like pillar of home, walking determined as greatest warrior, as unstoppable as coming of night. He walked, and he could have walked through hottest magma and deepest woods, could have taken eight million swords and arrows and spears without flinching. He walked, and Daitaro knew mountains would move and seas part to let him pass. And he knew, that if Mappa demanded it, he would have knelt and given his soul over, like to an old, dark god.

And then he stops, and looks, and Daitaro knows he has been seen, despite night and shadows and  trunks he has been seen, caught like pretty butterfly whose wings Mappa will tear off before crushing him beneath his boot.

His face is pale, lips scratched and bloodied, eye black and welt forming on his bloody cheeks, more terrible than even when he was lying in street among rats and demons.

And yet, it is tight and cold and empty, bare of feelings and any human concerns, completely apathetic despite what happened (honor, some small part dares weakly whisper), as if this is nothing, as if it is all boring and predictable and meaningless (he didn’t cry, Daitaro knows that, for scleras are so white, white as leaking fluid between tights, and completely dry). As if this happened before. As if this will happen again, and Mappa cares not.

But he looks better, beneath hair and bruises and cold mask, and realizes Mappa’s grey eyes are  sharp and hard and wild and wide and  _burning_.

Mappa doesn’t blink, or smile, simply tilts his beaten head and blank face and shrugs before continuing on his way.

When he is gone, Daitaro huddles in darkness before running to his room, chased in uneasy sleep by memory of burning eyes and empty face and whisper of  _demon child, son of fox, demon child, son of fox, demon child, son of fox…._


	2. Poison as sweet as sugar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy warning: Sexual abuse of preteen child and really fucked up savior complex on Daitaro's part.  
> Again thanks redlipstickkisses for title!

To be honest, it isn’t such  big disruption in their lives.

Lessons continue, taught by Tadatomo-sama in special rooms of palace, furnished for learning and training. Tadatomo-sama speaks and shows, imparting his great wisdom, and Daitaro asks and asks (but never too much, never enough to be bothersome, to be nuisance, to be sent away).

Mappa Douji doesn’t speak. Sooner will human hear dead then Daitaro and Tadtomo will see Mappa disturbing  them with words of his own choice. At this point, Daitaro isn’t sure if Mappa is even breathing (do demons need to breathe at all). He sits, still as statue, attentively listening to Tadatomo-sama, and yet somehow obviously lost somewhere else.

It infuriates Daitaro. Lessons are to be for absorbing knowledge, clearing misconceptions, for asking teacher questions and questions. especially when one has been so blessed as to posses one as kind and wise as Tadatomo-sama. And never mind that they have started from very beginning, from laughable things that even children know just because of that rat.

‘‘Do you have any problems following, dear boy? Is something unclear? Should I start from beginning?’‘ Daitaro grips his  fists-once he was dear boy, and Tadatomo-sama never asked with such… gentleness in voice.

‘‘No. Thank you.’‘ Mappa says, voice quiet and raspy, as if he is unused to speaking, but clear and cold and empty and as final as death. Tadatomo-sama’s eyes narrow and smile grows, and he rises from his spot to cross over to two of them and put heavy, strong hand on Mappa’s black eye and bruised cheek in too intimate gesture.

‘‘Now, now Mappa. How do we say it?’‘ He is smiling, voice sweet like honey and sunlight, and his eyes stare at Mappa, while Daitaro’s burn like coals.

‘‘I have no problems following lecture, sensei. Thank you for your care and charity you show me.’‘ Mappa’s voice is till empty, as is his face, while Tadatomo-sama smiles and cups Mappa’s cheek and caresses it like most caring lover, fingers trailing on edge of cut lips. Mapap says nothing, does nothing,  doesn’t even blink, simply watches Tadatomo-sama as if he is so tiny Mappa doesn’t even notice him.

Tadatomo-sama is first to break gaze and depart.

* * *

Mappa walks through halls of palace, halls full of people willing to throw out man from house because his skin has been darkened from work in sun.

Mappa’s skin is of dark colour, dark from sun for he lived in streets for years upon years, and yet pale from illness and hunger. His stature is small and he is thin as twig, his arms rough and scarred and calloused (they will never be soft again, never as soft and white as Daitaro’s have finally become).

Daitaro doesn’t mingle with great nobles, for he isn’t sure even Tadtomo-sama’s influence could protect him from punishment were he offend members of Heian court with his birthmark, that horrible brand sprawling over his face. And yet Mappa Douji walks with welts all over his face, as if he has no shame, as if he has right to force people to look at them.

And none dare speak against him, much less throw him down on floor and beat him until he faints. Crowds pass to let him part, more scared of  him than even of Tadatomo-sama, because Tadatomo-sama is shaman (which to humans means liar or black magic or slave) but Mappa is child of kitsune, anddemons are not to be prodded.

He covers bruises on his arms, Daitaro notices.

* * *

He has to admit, Mappa is studious and diligent. That would have delighted him, because he doesn’t need to bother with illiterate bastard, if he wasn’t  _too_  good at it.

Mappa doesn’t have talent, or great power, or rare wisdom. But he can bind demons to his will and he is kitsune in human skin and he works  _so so_  much. He doesn’t stop with work or practice, not to play or gaze at palace and people or try to make friendships like Daitaro did at first. He works, and practices, and learns with drive that Daitaro would have called obsession if Mappa ever showed a barest hint of emotion and desire. he does what he is told, and doesn’t stop until he is given other task (does he even eat or sleep? Daitaro isn’t sure he does).

Tadatomo-sama smiles at sight of that, and Daitaro’s stomach twists (for more than one reason).

* * *

When he came to court, he thought it was Heaven on earth, place of bliss and peace. Now he would laugh at his younger self in face. Court is cruel, merciless, harsh, cutthroat place. You need to be smart and fast, cunning and always ready to survive. You need to locate plots veiled behind smiles, knives behind veils, poison behind sugar. Million manipulations and even more lies.

When you are onmyoji, you need to be careful. You are important, especially he, apprentice of Tadatomo-sama, who works for emperor himself, yet you have most enemies of all. Humans sort shamans in three categories: charlatans, sinful sources of their misery and slaves who exist to fulfill their needs. And for all your mystical power, you are still subject to politcs.

Mappa Douji doesn’t care about that. Like thundergale he passes through court life without regard for manners, even with all of Tadatomo-sama’s disciplining (he speaks better, and shows respect, but he doesn’t bow and his face is so empty and Daitaro isn’t sure if Mappa can even show anything other than tiny tiny surprise). He doesn’t get anything about court life, but he understand fight and struggle.

Only problem is that he is used to fight like animal: hunger, and chase, and blood.

* * *

Tadatomo-sama starts teaching Mappa same advanced techniques he has been teaching Daitaro for years, and Mappa grasps them without any difficulty Daitaro encountered at beginning ( Daitaro is shaman, talented, strong, wise one but Mappa is demon, son of fox, creature of darkness and otherworld and mirages masquerading like human, and Daitaro knows he can’t compete with this boy who is born for magic and spiritual combats and curses like fish for water)

* * *

Mappa receives private lessons. He spends nights and days in Tadatomo-sama’s rooms and is taught master onmyoji’s secrets, and Daitaro tries to tell himself  it is only because Emperor’s oni exterminating ceremony is so close, that they must cleanse capitol and amuse Emperor but Mappa is new and dumb and needs to be taught to  _read_ (as if he, Daitaro knew to read before coming to capitol and that sears through his heart worse than spear, to think of Tadatomo-sama teaching Mappa with same care he gave to Daitaro).

* * *

‘‘Daitaro. I need you to know that you are still very dear to me, but you need to understand that Mappa is special, and requires great care. Please have patience. Will you be good boy?’‘ Tadatomo smiles and pats Daitaro’s nodding head, and Daitaro manages to wait until he is in his room to cry himself to sleep.

* * *

Tadatomo-sama isn’t even subtle anymore. It is his right and it is all right and everybody is doing similar with their lover-charges but still Daitaro doesn’t understand why his heart stops beating for moment and cold dread fills him as Tadatomo-sama rubs Mappa’s hair, puts ornaments in it, speaks softly in his shoulders, cups his cheek and kisses his lips (Mappa doesn’t try to please, not like Daitaro would have, no matter how sweetly Tadatomo-sama speaks or how strong snake shikigami binds his body or how heavy Tadatomo-sama’s grip is upon Mappa’s wrists) and some nights Mappa almost can’t walk but he is still standing proud and apathetic and unbowing.

* * *

People notice, as they always do. They speak and plot and gossip. Drag Tadatomo-sama’s stainless name through mud.

Senior apprentice forgotten. Demon child for lover. Son of fox for heir. Daitaro tries not to listen, but it is impossible. He has to prove himself, to set things right.

He enters wild and searches for Yamada Douma’s cave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you liked it, please review!


	3. Butterflies on wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again heavy warning for rape and sexual and emotional abuse of minors.

Cave is dirty and damp, just as wasted wreckage of Tadatomo-sama’s rival and predecessor, Yamada Douma. He smiles with rotten teeth, muddied rags almost fine in light of single candle, and it takes all of Daitaro’s two-facedness and skill not to burst in laugh or roar as he sucks up to second most powerful shaman in Japan, one dragging Tadatomo-sama’s name through mud.

‘‘Humph…A fox’s child, no less? Haha. Is That Tadatomo so euphoric that he’s going senile or what?’‘ Douma laughs, and it takes all of his restraint not to punch him until his face is nothing but bloody mess, no matter the consequences. His rusty, screeching laugh, his matted hair and dirty fingernails, his eyes greedily shining at thought of demon’s son.

Douma is a fool, Tadatomo-sama always spoke, fool who can’t see beyond his own nose. As if his putrid, wasted power can compare to Tadatomo-sama’s knowledge and skill. As if his dirty demons can hope to stand against Imperial shikigami. 

As if Daitaro would betray man who gave him everything because of some demon’s whelp. He will play this fool like child, will use his power and resources, ones idiot has been building up for years to try to sabotage Tadatomo-sama, and he will be savior and hero and bring glory to both his teacher and himself while Douma will rot ( and maybe Tadatomo-sama gets tired of stupid brat and throws him out, and then he and Douma can have each other. Mappa wouldn’t care at all, Daitaro knows, and if he got bored he could eat Douma’s liver without anybody being bothered).

‘‘Don’t fail me, Daitaro.’‘  _Channel your anger, your hatred, make him think you are seeing Mappa instead of him._

‘‘Of course not. Monk Douma’‘ Words still make him feel like traitor.

* * *

They are writing scrolls and charms as Daitaro plans to steal talismans that would give him control over Douma’s spirits, control that almost seems like what Mappa can do by will alone.

There are others beside him and Mappa, senior onmyoji with decades of experience, and yet they are so far below them as peasants are below nobles, for all he and Mappa are children and sitting in last row (soon, if gods bless him, it will be just him).

Accidental glance makes his eyes narrow as blinding surprise crosses his mind.  _What the hell? Has Tadatomo-sama taught him to write too?_ His blood boils at thought of Mappa receiving such basic and yet intimate lessons from his teacher.

‘‘…It wasn’t Tadatomo-sama . believe it or not, it was an oni I learnt this from.’‘ Mappa’s voice cuts quietly through air, soft and cold like leaf on winter breeze. For second Daitaro is humming before surprise hits him like ox, and he turns, eyes wide and fingers bent to Mappa, still writing without passion or care.

Words flow from Mappa, like icicles and needle upon Daitaro’s earbuds.

_Oni._

_Power to read minds._

_Abandon your plan before he finds out._

* * *

They are on bridge, over small stream, long leaves gently draping over them, swaying on wind. Daitaro leans, stunned and sprawled out, while Mappa still stands prim and proper, cold and bored, as if he hasn’t just revealed great secrets, as if he hasn’t just spoken tale of tragedy and death and fire and loss and blood and pain. Without hint of emotion he talked about his mother burning to death, about smashing Densen Hoshi’s brain at age of five, about Ohachiyo leaving.

he isn’t sure what to say. It is great thing, secret like no other, monumental, life changing tragedy Mappa shared with Daitaro as if talking about weather. Daitaro finds himself grateful and wary, and talking about his birthmark and thinking about all great stuff Tadatomo-sama did for him which is same as talking to Mappa, as if to justify himself. Mappa doesn’t seem to care, just as he doesn’t care about Daitaro being traitor (who knows how many times he heard such thoughts,over and over).

‘‘Whether their intentions are good or bad, the truth is, all people live only for themselves.’‘  Mappa talks, and speaks of wisdom that is hard to earn and harder to bear, and of past that should have reduced him to tears. And Mappa is so cold and experienced and  Daitaro doesn’t believe he sees himself as human person for all his claims that his mother wasn’t demon, and Daitaro actually has to remind himself that yes, Mappa is his age or possibly even younger.

But mountains were once young too, Daitaro thinks and knows Mappa was born to be ancient. He is first snowflake of ice age, first drop of world wide flood, first ember of fire that shall consume world, first spark of star that shall be heart of galaxy.

 And he knows that one day, when all people have fallen and  turned to dust, when empires and kingdoms are forgotten and languages and cultures dead, when heart of Earth stops pulsing and stars are snuffed out, that when world is lost to fire and ice and dark and death, Mappa Douji will be last one left standing in oblivion, cold and uncaring and bored.

‘‘If so, then I want to transcend humanity. Someday, after I surpass Tadatomo-sama, I’d like to see the world ahead. And be free, no matter where I go. Even if that made God and Buddha turn against me.’‘ And Mappa raises his hand, reaches towards sky as if he wants to rip Sun from sky, and for first time Daitaro sees small smile grace his lips, his eyes burning with spark of that mad conviction he saw that first night when nude Mappa walked to his room, and it may seem strange and unnerving to see Mappa passionate and living and almost-soft, and he is as beautiful and pure and unsullied like budding of first spring flower, like first drop of dew and light of dawn, like first star and breath of life.

Daitaro should be scared, and is bit, because Mappa knows his secret and not even his mind is safe, and what if in some dark hour of deep night Mappa whispers his plan during lovemaking?

Part of him is angry, should be angry, that Mappa dares compare himself to Tadatomo-sama, dares dream of surpassing him.

Part of Daitaro is honored, should be honored, because Mappa deigned to get this close with him, share something so personal and show what might be some sort of emotion despite…despite everything.

He should be surprised, and partly is, because this power and desire and past is not what he should have expected, what he could have expected, and Mappa actually claims to be mortal (Daitaro saw him bruise and bleed but  _still_  it didn’t feel  _right_ , to think of  _Mappa_  as something as fragile and simple as human)

But most of all…

‘‘Haha! I had no idea you were this amusing, Mappa Douji! Nice! Then let me join in your quest.’‘ Mappa says nothing, face blank and empty, but Daitaro doesn’t care as this is more than he could have expected of Mappa ever.

Not so far away-but it still feels so-Tadatomo and Douma wait.

* * *

Mappa claims to be neutral and uninterested in taking sides, which is why he doesn’t care about tattling traitor like daitaro (and he should, Tadatomo-sama should punish him for this is how Daitaro thanks him after everything). Were it somebody else, Daitaro would have scoffed and mocked them (if it wasn’t some greater noble, then he would have bowed and smiled and agreed).

Neutrality is lie.  Every action, even if it seems like nothing, is taking of a side. Every choice places you under somebody else’s dominion,  every act puts you in somebody’s debt, and trying to be neutral simply means trying to avoid getting harmed in fight and going along with winners. Neutrality is coward’s lie they tell themselves to feel better at night.

But Mappa? Mappa is neutral in same way earth and water take no sides. Everybody walks over earth and everybody drinks water, and everybody stomps on Mappa and uses him in some way. And just as everybody dies when earth shakes and everybody drowns when water pours, Mappa knows everybody’s secrets (some day, he will be strong enough to pierce even Tadatomo-sama’s mind and scoops up what it holds inside) and no matter how strong all die when Mappa’s onis feast.

* * *

Thing with fighting Mappa, Daitaro decides, is that you can’t win because he isn’t playing along. He simply doesn’t care enough for him to bother competing against somebody, and how do you win against somebody whose reaction to combat offer would be to continue dusting inkpots-Mappa of all people would be last to care about rumors and honor and bravery and slander.

Daitaro is half-convinced that Mappa bleeds because it’s expected to, and that if Daitaro managed somehow to stab him without Mappa or his power noticing his skin wouldn’t even be scratched.

No, Mappa doesn’t fight because he sees nothing in this world worth victory or nothing to be seen as prize. He simply watches without notice, knowing everything and keeping all secrets. When Daitaro dies, he expects to see Mappa as scribe and witness of King of Hell.

He doesn’t dare consider what would happen if Mappa cared about something.

* * *

This Daitaro doesn’t think of when Mappa is near.

Mappa claims that his mother wasn’t kitsune, that he isn’t demon child, that oni Ohachiyo confirmed to him that his mother wasn’t fox. But Daitaro thinks, wouldn’t demon protect another demon? Or maybe Ohachiyo wasn’t  all that informed-after all, he claimed that demons never harm humans too.

Mappa can control demons, speak to them, hold hundred oni in his body. Mappa doesn’t speak like human, behave like one, think like one. His voice, his face, each his movement is lacking any semblance of human feelings, as if they died in fire that took his home. He doesn’t care about life, about prestige, about connections.

Daitaro isn’t sure if Mappa can properly feel. Not when Mappa refuses Tadtomo-sama’s love ( _bears silently what happens at night_ ). And just how could human child eat soul of demon and take his power.

Humans sometimes become demons after death. Is it possible for them to become ones during life? Did Ohachiyo’s rearing and his lessons and oni in his body taint Mappa’s soul? Did upon renaming him Ohachiyo steal something from Mappa? Did pain and sorrow of boy who used to be Mappa Douji, and dark thoughts of humans transform Mappa in something else, using up his passion and heart in process?

Was that woman, Asanoha, truly a simple shaman, or a true demon is disguise? Or perhaps father Mappa never knew, of which Asanoha never spoke, father of whom Mappa didn’t even think to ask before  Daitaro did (and Mappa shrugged and answered never knew him, never needed him, never thought of him). Or did, as some old legends claim, Asanoha find a spirit child on her footstep, or carve child out of clay and wood and blood and ask demons to revive it?

He would like to be friends with Mappa, after everything is settled, but whenever he looks upon boy’s face he remembers old warnings about hungry ghosts and cunning kitsune and dark demons and something primal and instinctive in him screams.

* * *

Mappa, for all his faults, eats with proper etiquette, even if he just takes crumbs unless it’s Tadatomo-sama feeding him. Once, he brings him bread and rice and throws it in air.

‘‘Here! Eat as you like, no need for manners!’‘ And in blink of eye, Mappa jumps and catches and cradles food  in his hands and sinks his teeth in it, madly gobbling it all up as if he is on brink on starvation, as if he doesn’t even notice taste, as if he could (would, had) eaten rats and corpses. It still doesn’t look right-his nails shouldn’t be blunt but claws, his teeth fangs and not molars and what you have

Daitaro laughs. Mappa could eat his throat and he wouldn’t stop smiling.

* * *

‘‘Why don’t you try to make allies at court?’‘

‘‘Why do you?’‘

‘‘Because they are powerful and can make your life easier, of course!’‘

‘‘Really? Can they stop rain, or make crops grow, or turn knives to dust, or build house overnight, or heal plagues?’‘

‘‘Don’t be silly Mappa-that’s stuff of fairy tales!’‘

‘‘That is power.’‘

‘‘Well, yeah, but nobles have different power, power over people, state us.’‘

‘‘Only as long as you listen to them.’‘

‘‘If you don’t listen your head will fly.’‘

‘‘Perhaps. It wouldn’t be so bad. And maybe theirs would.’‘

‘‘Well, yes, but don’t let anybody hear you saying that.’‘

‘‘It all boils down to war and fighting.’‘

‘‘You make them sound like animals.’‘

‘‘Please. Animals aren’t greedy or cruel.’‘

‘‘Bwahaha! That’s good one! But seriously don’t let them hear.’‘

‘‘But says we accept they have power over people. That power doesn’t always work. Not on ones not conditioned to serve.’‘

‘‘If some other country’s citizen killed noble there would be repercussions. maybe even war.’‘

‘‘And we return  to it…What of bears?’‘

‘‘….What?’‘

‘‘How does that power fare against wild beasts, like for example, bear with rabies? Wouldn’t one able to stop even such creature have true power?’‘

‘‘Mappa Douji, do you really think you could kill bear with rabies?’‘

‘‘Maybe kill. Maybe calm down. Power isn’t only violence. That is such human way of seeing things.’‘

‘‘Do you believe you can achieve such power?’‘

Mappa says nothing. Daitaro looks at fragile, timid butterflies nesting on Mappa’s fingers and remembers hordes of demons, armies of oni crowding around Mappa on day Tadtomo-sama found him and thinks about possibility that he already received answer.

* * *

‘‘Momo-chan found herself lover.’‘ he gosssips, as he sometimes does. Mappa needs somebody to keep him up on importance of palace happenings.’‘Some samurai, not even thirty. She got quite lucky.’‘

‘‘Takeshi-sama, rich, boisterous, twenty five. Momo is quiet, scared and thirteen.’‘ They sit in silence before Daitaro coughs and leaves.

Mappa stares at  floor, thinking of bruises on his shoulders, of fears fostering in Momo’s head and sick thoughts in Takeshi’s,of …appointment he has tonight, or horrible old men rotting alive and ponders whether somebody would think of demons if oni tore certain samurai’s bowels out.

* * *

‘‘Do you like anybody, Mappa Douji?’‘ It is foolish question, for Mappa Douji needs nobody, desires nobody, and has Tadatomo-sama, who is more worthy than gods.

‘‘Not really.’‘ Daitaro isn’t sure if mappa is answering to what Daitaro thought of, or liking in general.

‘‘Would you want to?’‘ Question is stupid but day is long and they have nothing better to do.

‘‘I don’t need to. I have no use for relationship. But if it didn’t hurt it wouldn’t be unwelcome.’‘ Mappa whispers, watching petals fall and fall.

‘‘And does somebody like you? Did you catch anything?’‘ Daitaro spoke, venom almost gone from his voice as memory of Tadatomo-sama having Mappa lick honey from his fingers arose. Mappa’s face remained as impassive as it always was.

‘‘The cook’s helper saw me trying robes for ceremony three days ago and thought I was cute and hopes to catch time to talk with me when I’m alone. One guy finds me interesting and has been trying to talk with me for month but he is too nervous.’‘

‘‘Oh?’‘ Daitaro’s smile rises at juicy gossip. ‘‘And what do you think of them?’‘

‘‘She is hardworking but wants man who cares for court struggles.  He writes nice poems but he is nervous about everything, especially spirits.’‘

‘‘Their families?’‘

‘‘Unimportant to me. To you, they are both lowborn.’‘

‘‘Pfff.’‘ Daitaro sighs. ‘‘Only reason why you should meddle with servants is if you want some quick encounter. And poets are nice but useless if they aren’t nobles.’‘ There should be only one scheming bastard in relationship.And poetry is beautiful and highly valued by court which is why you should always praise it, but Daitaro cannot understand what good they do to world ( it is only with Mappa that he is so honest which makes sense-why pretend when he can read minds).

‘‘There is more to relationship than status and sex.’‘ Daitaro chokes at word.

‘‘Mappa Douji! You are never blatant in polite company! You should be subtle and indirect!’‘ Same argument, rehashed so many times.

‘‘But I don’t want to advance at court, so I don’t have to bother with coating words to pretend they are something else when everybody sees it.’‘Mappa, thankfully, never points out profanities Daitaro spews when he gets angry.

‘‘Well, it must be great having somebody love you.’‘ This time bitterness escaped his voice. When you had strange powers and no birthmark.

‘‘That noble you talked to last week thinks you have good way with words, and she found you fun. And that one samurai who is always sneaking around thinks you are handsome and exciting.’‘ Said noblewoman was very jealous person, and samurai liked to fight, but it wasn’t Mappa’s place to fix everybody’s problems.

‘‘Shut up.’‘ Daitaro spat out as his palms folded in fists, and he almost broke his teeth by  gritting over each other. ‘‘Don’t be so cruel. Not when you are so lucky.’‘ Memory rose, of one time Tadatomo-sama took Mappa on his lap.

It was silent, and sharp, and faster than wind. Mappa was in front of him, cold and empty save for wild, burning eyes, and he caught Daitaro’s arms with force that would shame bear, holding him in place as if Daitaro was but a leaf. Their lips were breath away.

Mappa’s sleeves were rolled up, exposing his thin arms and their bruises, and rim of his robes was lowered over his shoulders, showing numerous, bloody bites, purple black like plums. And then daitaro felt something bitter and deep and hot enter his mind, violate it beyond description..

_Small. So small. So small as he is held down, bound by spirit and hands, things inside him sealed and kept down and controlled by charms, things that were only remnant of his friend, things that were only ones protecting him, so small as that cruel, self-righetous bastard forces him and he can do nothing and everybody speaks of honor… Then let them have it! Let them be fucked by that old shit, let them, let them_

Mappa’s hold loosens, and Daitaro sees small demons manifest and crawl over him, purple-grey-transparent with claws and teeth and buglike eyes and otherworldly shrieks and runs as Mappa watches with his oni.

Daitaro runs. He has ceremony and plan to prepare for.

* * *

Ceremony starts and stops.

Spirits comes and tadatomo-sama stands in position.

Daitaro dies with fading, worried smile on lips, surprise and betrayal in eyes and katana in abdomen.

Mappa screams.

City burns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you liked it, please review!


	4. The hunger resenting

He is dying.

Tadatomo-sama put sword through his body without any hesitation.

He is speaking to Mappa Douji.

Love and admiration break to pieces.

But before Daitaro has time to properly hate him, the demon surge forth.

* * *

They are. They are many, legion, horde, army. 

They are dark, abandoned, lost. They are chimimoryos, small spirits of birds and bus and beasts that forgot who they were, soul faded and adrift without memory to support it’s identity. 

They are oni, first sprang forth from darkness of human heart, wicked thoughts and negative feelings and sick desires given form by power of cursed shamans. 

They are souls who died in sin and pain, warped by their own evil or misfortune in monsters of pure hated and beastly instincts and dark power. 

They are miasma and tainted furyoku and curses that managed to scrape by some measly grain of intelligence.

And they hunger.

* * *

World is cruel, and humans even more so. There are so so many forgotten and abandoned souls who have became invisible and dies alone.

So so many.

Enough to raise army to overthrow world.

 Or give birth to vengeful god.

* * *

Years and years of experiments and preparations cannot go unpaid. Thousands of charms, fueled by whole furyoku of two most powerful shamans in Japan for decades upon end. So many spells and amulets and curses.

Demons come, drawn to them by force that rivals gravity, and do they will it isn’t important (does spell change their will) for they cannot resist spell anymore than speck of dust can resist full force of Earth’s orbit. Like steel net without escape spell takes all demons and souls in vicinity and pulls them toward their victim and sacrifice, their target and host.

Their medium.

* * *

They come, thousands upon thousands, countless horde, and tear in his mind and body and soul while he is on edge of death, and it is too much and he acn’t bear it-he shatters but doesn’t die.

Instead, he is consumed.

* * *

They tear in him, every memory and atom and piece of spirit, tear in him and consume him, flow through him and he flows through them and they become one. His body is theirs, his memory and knowledge and desire theirs, his power theirs, just as their spirits and hatred and hunger are now his.

And he is lost.

* * *

They devour each other, devouring existences of one another, and under spell’s guidance, they meld and melt into one being, one creature, one force made of millions, spirits accumulating and empowering one another, like cells of body, or links of chain.

they are discint. They remember their pains, their betrayals, their desires, their revenges. Each of them burns with hatred and pain that lights entire being, most important of them all.

They are one. All souls bound and forged in one, one spirit, one mind, one hunger that outmatches them all, common drive that binds their existence. Pain and anger and sorrow that are as basic and common as blood to all humans and heat to all stars.

And in center, in what could be said to be heart-or brain,truly a center of their existence is a whirpool of unborn resentment, buried and misdirected and waiting to fester and grow and rot world, resentment that only started to truly break through after blood and betrayal and black magic stole life of a simple boy.

You never realize, do you, how powerful things are those hearts of children?

* * *

Daitaro-Boushi arises.

It is a grand thing, taller than houses, than mountains, than dreams. It’s footsteps shake earth and carve out lakes and seas, it’s arms create winds, it’s roars shake skies, its punches break mountains. A skeleton and horns and fire and burning eyes.

Humans see it. They shouldn’t see spirits, but Daitaro-Boushi is not spirit anymore. It is human shikigami, man and demon at once, as solid as flesh and bone, as untouchable as soul and spirit. It denies basic laws of universe, and yet it is.

It is more than god, than spirit. It is like night and history itself. It is resentful, resentment of every soul that has been and that shall be. It is beggar dying on road, child neglected, woman raped, old mother forgotten, peasant thrashed. It cannot any more be stricken down than moon can fall down.

And it hungers.

* * *

It roars through city, destroying all who stand in way, absorbing every soul it murders. It grows and nothing is enough, life isn’t enough, world isn’t enough. they will pay. they will all pay.

Souls of humans are small and slick, coated in sins and wrongdoing and too many thoughts. Some are especially slimy, as that of priest it stomped on and consumed as he screamed  _no no Daitaro please dont_

Mappa’s soul is small, so so small and tiny. It is soul of weakling, destined for tiny, meagre power of shaman who can barely channel ghost of mouse.

And yet, it is pure and bright and burning and utterly, utterly mad.

* * *

Mappa’s soul is pure and unsullied, cleaner than any.It looks like flame of summer stars, smells like meadow on spring wind, feels like fertile clay in fifth season, sounds like clashing of gold during autumn thunderstorm, tastes like clean winter water and Daitaro-Boshi can’t resist.

As Mappa says, he will either stop it, or they will destroy world together.

* * *

Mappa is bleeding from arrow in heart and his oni are free.

Resentment staggers. For six years Mappa has heard and knew and felt every single despicable thought and wish and emotion of every thinking creature around him. It isn’t enough.

It is too much.

* * *

Power of shaman is best fueled by death coming for shaman and willpower. Those two things can help it reach its final  limit.

Mappa is more stubborn than blizzard or downpour and has been courting death on edge between life and otherworld since he was born. But he has reached his small limit long since ago.

But he is stubborn and doesn’t fear death and there is soemthing that must be done, so he reaches out with his warped soul and grabs and clenches and holds and pulls world, holds fate in steady grip and screams at universe until it has no choice.

Mappa’s limit breaks and he too grows.

* * *

Daitaro-Boushi is resentful,  and great, and so hungry world couldn’t fill him up.

Mappa doesn’t know hunger. He was born with it beneath his bones and heart, an endless gap that he never knew how to fill.

But he knows starvation and that his opponent is so great and that even moons die in time and Daitaro’s corpse falls down free and mocking and smiling and tired Mappa just  _feasts _.__


	5. Inner dark

You can’t kill what is already dead. You cannot end spirit. You cannot destroy soul. No matter what, what is  _is_ and perhaps only Great Spirits can change that. In some way, in some form, dead will always survive.

But that doesn’t mean you can’t harm them. You can banish them. You can seal them. You can curse them. You can fight them with weight of your own soul and cut them with furyoku like with blade.

What they don’t tell you, is that you can reduce them, and in some minds a destruction would be kinder.

You take the soul, the ghost, the person and you diminish them. You break and tear and scour their spirit clean, clean, clean-of joy and sorrow and past and future and memory and identity. You wash away what and who they are, condemning their personhood to oblivion, turning them in nothing but bundle of reiryoku and ether. A shadow, wraith left to bemoan cold emptiness inside itself.

That is what you need to do to consume spirit.

What does happen, when you are consumed twice?

* * *

Some spirits are eaten and imprisoned, their souls bursting inside another. Some spirits are eaten and digested, left nothing but energy absorbed by one who tore in them. Fox child’s dark-thought-children feast on resentful shikigami, and so does fox-child (for that is how oni is born, let poor cursed soul hear your thought and watch as it plucks piece of their soul to make identity for itself-less a child and more of separate piece of same being), and return to their warden-host-slave-parent-source, taking it with them.

Not eaten and consumed, not properly digested, only a shadow remains. Shadow that doesn’t remember what it once was (it had name, it thinks, but it can’t be sure).

* * *

The dark once-soul-maybe-even-named flows through dark-thought-children, thousand and thousand pieces (they aren’t just matched together, when they are joined to make greater spirit-they are combined, mixed, every soul containing traces of every other, bound together in chain of resentment providing endless power). It flows and flows and flows and comes out of them, and flows in fox-child and merges.

It flows and penetrates through fox-child’s soul, until each part of it is tainted by lost shadow (oh, it was never good soul,  not at all, but it was pure, which may not be same though many think it is but it is still precious-a lake spoiled by filth is what lost shadow makes fox-child).

* * *

There is resentment festering inside fox-child’s mind, resentment built upon years and years of good deeds and heroic acts repaid with scorn and hatred. Shadow thing slips in it, their borders blurring and merging, until hatred and rage of thing that once called itself…. called itself…that was dark shikigami that used to be army of abandoned becomes that of fox-child’s. 

The shadow doesn’t influence fox-child. It cannot, for it is nothing but memory, a pale, hollow one at that. It’s choices are it’s own and shadow has no power over them. And yet….Shadow’s envy is fox-child’s, their wrath is now shared, their grudges are its to carry now.

Who knows what would have happened otherwise though. If fox-child remained pure and hollow and uncaring as it was. Perhaps it’s power wouldn’t have grown, and perhaps it wouldn’t have learned to hate as it did. And perhaps it would have remained cold and uncaring, and when everything became too much it would have just walked away to wilderness and loneliness and walked until it fell down or threw itself off bridge.

* * *

The shadow knows it has been forgotten by all but fox-child, along with…it can not describe person, but something it thinks was maybe man it once loved and later almost hated.

Fox-child, as time passes, doesn’t let it’s mind dwell on them, and much will pass before it think of them again. It doesn’t matter, even if shadow could care still-it lives within fox-child’s soul, and what happened set path for future and altered behavior forever. And it isn’t really forgotten by all when you think  better .Fox-child and shadow are one now.

And centuries later, shamans still whisper fox-child’s name in fear.

* * *

Years pass, and fox-child grows old.

Not old as men do, wrinkled skin and tired bones and stuck views. Not as spirits do, unimportant memories forgotten entirely, decades unnoticed and lifetimes  passing into days-for human mind isn’t made to bear weight of so many years without snapping in half. 

Fox-child grows old in way landscape does, ever-strong and always expanding and so old yet eternal- old, but strong and unyielding and just getting stronger and wiser, never fading or failing.

So it is with legends.

* * *

The soul of fox-child is small and tiny and weak.

And yet it is strong and powerful and great.

What does it mean, to be a deity, but to push yourself beyond all limits set by fate and succeed?

* * *

Shadow is bound to thought-children living inside fox-child,  born from human wickedness and fox-child’s power. They are similar-shadow knows it is of same nature as they, but more wasted, simpler, baser. It is part of them, as it is of fox-child, woven inside their spirits as hatred and heartache are.

It keeps them quiet, for some reason. It wants to, but it doesn’t understand why.

* * *

Shadow sleeps, most of time. It doesn’t have lot of strength left to think and desire. It simply is, and pours in fox-child’s heart and strokes darkness within.

* * *

There is so much pain, so much misery crowding inside fox-child, and shadow and thought-children-aspects swim in them and become them and shadow doesn’t know whether it would have been amused or afraid or happy or sad once oni grows within fox-child’s heart then is reabsorbed again.

* * *

Shadow feels when fox-child breaks and reforges itself and takes life after life after life. If it could have, it would have grinned.

It cannot remember fox-child ever feeling this ready and burning and alive.

* * *

They hate it, shadow and thought-children, oh they do so much. Fox-child is pathetic and kind and fearsome and it keeps them starved and locked up inside.

They love it. Fox-child inspires fears and keeps them close and is so hurting and so caring.

They would like to gobble it up all, but they would defend it until they are all as lost as shadow.

* * *

The fox-child burns, burns as it never has. It isn’t apathetic or cold or neutral anymore (but it is so, so empty, and sad, and hungry).

It cares about nature, because nature is beautiful and was there first and it is powerful and they owe it so much and nature doesn’t  see difference between rich and poor, between lonely and befriended ones, between loved and feared. It cares about humans too, unlike before, despite what other shamans say.

Hatred is just another form of care.

* * *

Death comes, twice, kissing fox-child on lips and ripping out it’s heart, and though shadow is less that ghost and cannot die it feels pain echo through it and a still-remaining instincts screams

But Fox-child? Fox-child, out of all men, truly doesn’t care as life is ripped  away from it. It rises without trace of fear, and with something that may be  amusement or relief and goes down to very back of bottom of death’s jaws.

* * *

Hell is familiar to thought-children, calling out to their nature, yet they cower, for in hell none can remain without being driven mad and consumed for long. If there is way to kill soul, there it is.

Shadow blares and twists and cries.

Fox-child smiles, and walks through regret and pain and violence, and goes to see lords of Hell fall.

* * *

Centuries pass and pass, and shadow fades and becomes less defined and more absorbed as they go.

It isn’t really awake a lot anymore.

* * *

Shadow learns of light. It is bright and all-containing and hot and painful and shadows are born from it and it feasts completely unlike fox-child (it doesn’t, it doesn’t consume souls, it starves but never eats soul on it’s own) and it likes to eat and fox-child feeds it well and unlike any other power it cannot overfeed and break, it could burn down world and still demand more. And it loves fox-child, with no hate, unlike shadow.

Fire, heat, light, source of stars, spark of life, origin of gods and spirits, force of nature, one of five elements, aspect of universe, born from Great Spirits senses shadow and tears through it (fox-child doesn’t care, because it never bows to anything and least of all pain and it actually likes it a lot but that’s neither here nor there and fire loves fox-child and it will never never burn again) and shadow knows what will happen should it try something.

It squeaks and hides deep deep below, sleeping as fire contently watches.

* * *

Centuries have passed and fox-child is in womb for first time and shadow feels life flow back in them as cells multiply and body builds and yet this time everything is different. is it chance or fate or simply too many thought-children, fox-child’s soul breaks.

Soul is the essence of existence, the heart of being, the core of any creature. Soul that is split, broken, is fundamentally damaged forever, cursed and doomed as shadow is, made in something less than even demon. Fox-child should be gone, ripped apart as soul is torn in two, and shadow feels and screams as if world is being broken, as if time and space are coming undone and yet…

And yet fox-child remains, strong and sane and enduring. Remains, as half of it’s soul and meager grains of it’s power and every happiness and chance for easy life that could have been it’s are torn and taken.

Shadow wakes, watches in fascination as  reiryoku and power that should have drifted away and been absorbed by mother break off and shape themselves, form a new soul, new human soul (it is only from god you can get another soul like that).

The new soul is pure, sparkling, shining thing, a careful, gentle existence that feels like silk and giggle,  something kind and soft and sweet and beautiful, something destined for greatness and power and heroism, full of untapped potential,and shadow sees blessing of Great Spirits themselves upon it, right to wield Spirit of Earth itself, and shadow almost reaches out and leaves and follows but…

But new soul is so so so human and simple, nothing truly special, for heroes and saviors have come and gone and there are always, always god-chosen ones, nothing wretched and ruined and failed, not empty and hungry and impossible, and shadow knows this soul will be someday loved and happy like fox-child could never be, but it isn’t kind of soul that could become god and break it’s limits and master elements and accomplish what nobody ever did and bear thousand years and dark thoughts and Hell, isn’t something mad and lonely and empty that could pull itself up by broken fingers and hold fate and force universe to accept it  _or else_ … And it isn’t, could never be kind of soul that could hold shadow and million thought-children and that would never, cradle them deep within it’s heart and whatever shadows has forgotten it remembers one thing.

Loyalty must be repaid.

* * *

_Soul consumed cannot be remade and returned. Memory can never again become spirit. Personhood cannot be recovered from oblivion once consigned to void. It is impossible. Such are rules of universe, ones that are written in it’s very soul._

_What is that to God, They who wrote them in being?_

_There is world, world that is time and state and ghost and plane and new and ancient. It is beautiful and peaceful and it is paradise and on it a boy is recreated._

_‘‘What…’‘ Says Daitaro, who is now boy and human shikigami and memory, Daitaro-Bosushi and shadow and Daitaro. And in front of him is Mappa Douji, who is not what He used to be but yet is. Boy-Daitaro sees adult-man-teenager, onmyoji-Patch priest-boy in kimono as red as bloody autumn stitched with flowers. Shadow sees greatest shaman to walk earth, a master of elements, deity that lived and died again and again and again, who walked in hell and defeated it’s lords and became terror and nightmare and killed so many.  
_

_And shikigami sees  man who is God and otherworld and universe and afterlife and everybody, sees Shaman King, the one with Great Spirits,  of whom everything is just aspect, from which everything comes and everything returns to, yin and yang, fire and earth and metal and water and wood, light and gravity and thunder and ice and wins, King whose body are Heaven and Hell, whose legs are one with earth and sky and air and space, whose eyes are nebulae, whose crown are stars, whose fingers are grass and demons and plagues and humans and cats, who is all-knowing and present everywhere and who is smiling and dancing and holding out hand and offering chance and who leads him in eternal bliss._

**Author's Note:**

> End of first chapter! Hope you liked it, thanks for reading, and please review!


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